


Words We Don't Mean Hurt The Most

by 01blackcat02



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-02-09 08:06:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1975383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/01blackcat02/pseuds/01blackcat02
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Words have power, especially those that are uttered in the heat of the moment. Those especially can bring either great happiness or endless sorrow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

England stirred the pot of bubbling green stew. _Hmm I think I put too much salt...a little bit of sugar should do the trick._ Grabbing a jar of the Brit dumped half of its contents into the pot. Large bubble floated up and popped in front of his face. _Oops too much... oh well America likes his sweets so this should be fine._

Continuing to stirring the pot England hummed a tune. He was trying out an original recipe. America kept bragging how his people always created new delicious food, so England decided to give it a try. It couldn't be that hard right? Just like a spell, put a bunch of things in a pot and its ready.

“It’s almost ready love!” Yelled the Brit into another room where loud swearing and gun shots could be heard.

The bubbles increased as the stew boiled. “Now let's see...potatoes, cabbage, beef, milk, a few drops of witch hazel...this should do it.”

Taking out a spoon England gathered a little of the stew bringing it to his lips to blow on the green liquid. He parted them about to taste it when a voice interrupted him.

“You’re not seriously going to try it, right?

Startled England almost dropped the spoon as he twisted to look at America who was leaning against the door frame.

“Of course I was its delicious. A new national dish.” The shorter blond proudly boasted.

“Right... let me call the ambulance first.” Joked the tall American.

Coming closer to the pot America peered inside. “This is....umm...what is it?”

“My new recipe, try it.” England smiled bringing the spoon to America’s lips.

“Um, I’d rather have pizza instead...” Glaring at the still bubbling concoction he backed away. “I already ordered it should be here any minute.”

England lowered the spoon and frowned. “What? You ordered pizza after I spend hours slaying in the kitchen?!”

“Yea, I know your food is inedible I don't wanna be sick all night and day just because you can't cook.” Easily said America. He reached out to pull England to him but the Brit swatted his hands away.

“My food is delicious you just can't appreciate a healthy cooked meal! All day you fill your gut with fat and sugar.” Annoyed England whirled around away from his boyfriend. “Fine! I don't care do what you want.”

“England wait…”  Started America, but the Brit already turned away and grabbed the two handles lifting the heavy pot. Unfortunate he forgot to wear mittens and ended up dropping the whole pot on the floor burning his fingers.

America roughly jerked the shorter man back away from the spilled mess and hot metal pot on the floor. “Shit! England!” The shorter nation curled in on himself pressing his hands into his chest.

America pulled him around. “Let me see.”

“I'm fine. I had worse.” Stubbornly mumbled England keeping his hands from America.

“I'm sure you have but let's not beat the record. Come on, let me see. Please?” Gently America pulled England’s hands away. Fingers and palms flushed an angry red.

“It’s going to swell up. Let’s run it under cold water.” Not looking at his boyfriend England allowed America to gently guide him to the kitchen sink. Turning on the cold water America stood behind England holding his hands under the running water.

“You okay?” Kissing the messy locks America nuzzled into the softness.

“Fine.” Curtly replied England, but bit his lips keeping his head down.

Frowning America pressed closer against the curled back. “We should put some cream on that. Keep holding your hands under the water, I’ll be right back.” Kissing his cheek the American rushed to the upstairs bathroom where he knew England kept the first aid kit.

Bringing it down he was pleased that his stubborn boyfriend didn't moved, but the shaking shoulders told another story. Setting the kit on the counter America opened it and dug through the medical supplies.

“Aha! Found it.” Grasping the wet hands he brought them closer to him. The tall blond gently dried the burned skin and liberally applied ointment. “Does it hurt?”

Pushing his lips in a thin line England still refused to meet the sky blue eyes. “We are nations, this is completely unnecessary.” The Brit harshly bit out.

America frowned. “That doesn't mean you shouldn't treat it.” Trying to lighten the mood he teasingly added. “Maybe it'll teach you to finally stop cooking.”

England’s green eyes flashed with anger finally glaring the American. “It’s always about my cooking! Nobody asked you to eat it!”

“Um…actually you did.” America countered refusing to back away from England’s challenge. “I told you we should just go out, but you insisted on staying in.”

“That's because I don't feel like wasting money on overpriced restaurants every time we need food. Obviously you never learned to manage your expenses! The next new gadget or game or whatever and you need to have it. Learn a little self-control for a change!” England was panting from ranting. He would have jabbed his fingers into America’s face but they stun too much.

“Hey! That’s the way my economy works! And leave my expenses alone it’s my money I do what I want with it!” America angrily threw the cream into the kit. “And you shouldn’t be talking to me about wasting money, you spend more cash on groceries, pans, and kitchen repairs by constantly doing what you call cooking. Didn't someone at least teach you how to do it properly? Or maybe you were too busy talking with your imaginary friends to pay attention!” Feeling fired up America just couldn’t stop.

Hurt flashed in the green eyes and America felt a sting of guilt in his chest. The water danced in the emerald green eyes but their owner refused to give in. Both nations were silent not looking at each other. England’s hands ached, but the pain in his heart was worse. Curtly walking away England reached for a rag.

“Hey, you shouldn't touch anything your hands still hurt.” America piped up.

“They’re fine. I don't want to keep looking at this mess on my floor any longer.” Angrily barked England.

“Just leave it alone, it’s not going anywhere.” America tried to keep the annoyance from his voice but he wasn’t sure it was working. 

“Why don't you go and play your games.” Calmly replied the British nation, a little too calmly for America’s taste.  

“Because I know you’re gonna do something stupid.” Frowning he followed his boyfriend. “Here just give me the rag don't hurt yourself further.” Grabbing the rag off the counter out of England’s reach, America crouched down wiping down the green goo.

“You’re just smearing it all over!” Complained the shorter blond, critically watching as America tried to clean up the ruined strew.

It turned out to be more difficult than America though and he only managed to make an even bigger mess. “God what the hell did you put in here? This is a new level of chemical warfare. Seriously instead of cooking why don't you-”

“Are you going to insult me all night!?” Snapped England, voice raising another notch. “Did it ever occur to you that I actually like cooking? That I do it for...” England’s breathe hitched and he quickly wiped at his eyes.

“Jeez maybe you should find a new hobby.” Muttered America, but as soon as the words left his mouth he felt even worse about the harsh remark.  Ignoring England he chose to focus on spreading the green stuff all over the floor. “This is stupid.” Getting up he dropped the soiled rag with the rest of the mess. “Come on this can wait; the pizza should be here soon let's just watch a movie or something.”

England’s eyes stun as much as his hands but America’s remarks went straight to his heart resurfacing all his fears and doubts about their special relationship. Still glaring at the ruined dinner and American converse shoes that England repeatedly asked him to take off while inside, England suddenly felt a wave of uncontrolled rage. “It’s always about you. It’s me me me me me! But what about what I want!?”

“God England, if you wanted to eat this stuff so badly I'm not going to stop you.” America was growing tiered of this argument. All he wanted was some cuddle time on the couch while munching on pizza, was that too much to ask?

“It’s not about the bloody stew you imbecile! You make fun of my hobbies, my friends, my fashion, my cooking, everything! Is my whole existence just some kind of a joke to you! If you don't like me then what the hell are you still doing here!?”

America scowled annoyed that this turned into another one of their screaming matches, although this one was going down a very dangerous road. “I'm not making fun of you, I'm just joking around.” He was being defensive and hard headed and he knew it, but he just couldn’t stop. “Besides you make fun about my thing too. Every time we watch one of my movies you keep telling me how bad it is.”

“At least I stay awake!” Countered England.  

“Oh yea thanks. I’d rather you just pass out so I don't have to listen to your raspy old man voice!” America yelled back.

“Well why the fuck do you keep bothering coming here? If I'm such a troublesome old man go find someone else who will to pick up after you and listen to your endless whining like the child that you are.”

“I'm not a child!” If there’s one thing America loathed was being called a child and he knew England knew that.

“See throwing a tantrum you might as well be a tot.” England was pushing America’s buttons and not in a good way.

Shaking with rage America fisted his hands in an effort to not punch England’s face, but what left his mouth was even worse. “You know what!? Sometime I wish I never met you!”

Silence filled the space between them. Both green and blue eyes wide and filled with hurt. Guild ate away at America but he refused to take the words back. _England deserved it, I was just trying to be a good boyfriend, but all England did was try to pick a fight._ Turning his back on the shaking Brit, America walked into the living room. "I'm going for a walk" Grabbing his jacked hanging over the sofa on the way to the front door America angrily pulled the heavy coat on struggling to ignore the muffled crying coming from the kitchen. With resolved will America grabbed his keys and phone and walked into the cold September night. 


	2. Chapter 2

Wandering aimlessly for hours America somehow ended up at a pub where he spend another handful of hours drinking English beer and muttering obscenities about England. The bartender and a few patrons of the pub kept sending him annoyed looks clearly thinking he's insulting their nation, which he guess they were right. Eventually America realized he had a bit too much when the bottle in front of him tripled in and out. Paying the tab the tall blond stumbled out into the cold air.

It was long past midnight or something his phone’s digital clock kept blurring every time he looked at it. But he didn't want to go back to England’s house. He'll most likely get another lecture from the other nation about coming home late or something or other. That is if the British nation didn't empty his own liquor supply and was sprawled out spread eagle on the floor in nothing but his tight briefs. America giggled at that thought half amused, half aroused.

He plopped down on the bench nearby. Looking up, the sky was shining with stars. He wanted to go to space again maybe he'll convince his boss to let him live on the International Space Station for a few months, maybe even years if England was still pissy with him.

Then when he finally comes back, England would welcome him back with tears in his eye and they would do whatever America wanted.

Out of the corner of his eye something bright shinned stealing his attention, but the only thing he spotted was a few white feathers gently gliding down from the sky before settling on the pavement. Frowning America decided he had been out long enough and there was probably a couch with his name on it at home.

Wiping the drool from his face America got up and made his way back to England’s house half stumbling and avoiding various objects along the way. Somehow he managed to get back, narrowly missing a blue box that seemingly appeared out of nowhere, but America was more that capable in fending for himself.

Using the double set of keys England made for him the American opened the front door finding everything dark. Well no point looking for England, he's probably passed out anyways. They'll just have to resolve this tomorrow.

Not bothering with taking off his coat or shoes America flopped down on the narrow sofa, feet dangling from the armrest. Letting out a groan of exhaustion, the American nation let his drunken mind dissolve into nothingness. 

* * *

 “What the bloody fuck is he doing ‘ere? Oi! Yank get your ass off my couch!” A punch in the side and America was jolted awake.

“What the fuck man! That’s no way to wake someone up.” America’s head pounded as he rubbed his hurt side in annoyance. Great a hangover...just awesome...

“I don't bloody care, what are you doing in my house?”

Groaning America whined, “What's your problem I live here...” but the words died on his tongue. He raised an eyebrow at the person in front of him. Green eyes, check, bushy eyebrows, check, messy blond hair, nope.

“What are you doing here Scotland? Does England know you’re here?” Rubbing his eyes the American tried to remember if England mentioned something about his brothers coming over.

“Who the bloody fuck is England?! Get out of my house yank! Even better, get out of my country!” The red head was getting irritated.

“Umm....this is England’s house.” But as America looked around he wasn't sure. Did he drink so much that he ended up in Scotland. But he walked back, that would be impossible.

“You keep going on about England. I don't know who that is, but you have five minutes to remove yourself from my house before I call the royal guard.”

“Whoa! Okay calm down no need for drastic measures.” Jumping off the couch America backed away from the angry Scot.

If anything that irritated Scotland even more. “Right sure take ye sweet time would you like some breakfast while you gather your wits about? You of all people should know what isolation means. So I ask again, how did you get here. Are you declaring war?”

“What?! No of course not! I'm just....ah...lost?” Did something happen last night? Had he in his drunken state declared war on Scotland? This was definitely not good.

Green eyes narrowed. You have tress passed my national borders. I don't know how you got in and I don’t have time to babysit you, so if I spot you in an hour within my country I’ll have you shot on sight. Understood?”

America numbly nodded.

“Good, now get out.” 

* * *

Running around the streets America was sure that he was still in London, but there was something missing. Aside from the peoples’ dialect, most of the architecture and food appeared to be the same, but something lacked in the atmosphere that made this...England.

All the newspapers proclaimed that this was a nation of Scotland and his google search came up with nothing. Heck, he even swung by the local library to check a few history books, but to his complete shock, there was no mention of England. It was like he never existed.

Depressed, America made his way to the airport having no doubt that Scotland wouldn’t go back on his promise. However, waiting in line to purchase tickets for his home turned out fruitless.

“Look I don't understand how this is not possible. I just want a one way ticket to New York.” The tall America was getting very irritated by now.

The pretty attendant behind the counter was also becoming very annoyed and struggled to maintain her strained smile. “I'm sorry sir, but any flight to United States is strictly prohibited from our country.”

“What the hell! Why!?” His yell drew a few glances, but America was too riled to give them any thought.

She gave him an exasperated look as if he didn't know. Giving up America stalked away and collapsed into one of the really uncomfortable plastic benches. This is ridicules.

His phone suddenly vibrated and started to play the obnoxiously loud tune of his national anthem. Great his boss was calling. Digging around his pockets America fumbled with his phone receiving more glares sent his way which he chose to ignore.

“Hello?”

“America what the hell are you doing in the National Union of Scotland!? How did you get there? Are you trying to start a war?” His boss was angry.

“Yea yea, I mean, no, of course not. I have no idea how I got here.” America was exhausted. This day was just getting better and better. “Look I swear I was in England I don’t-”

“Who the hell is England? America this is not the time for games. You need to get back right away. If any of the other nations find out you’re outside your borders they will take advantage of that.” The president’s voice was straining, as if he was trying to control his anger.    
  
“Well…I can't get a flight out. Can you like, I don't know, come and get me?” Helplessly asked the worn-out nation.

“America.” His bosses tone was unamused. “We had this discussion before, I thought we resolved it.”

“Umm....I forgot?” He had no idea what his boss was talking about, but judging from the strained silence on the other line he could tell that this was important.

“Look, I know you wanted to help Europe I understand, but we couldn't risk it okay. Besides we were given strict orders not to interfere, I thought you understood that.”

“Um yea... I guess...” Seriously what was going on? America was getting angry now, why couldn’t someone just tell him straight instead of beating around the bush. And most importantly, where was England?

“America we will talk more about this when you get back. You’re going to have to get a flight back home through France.”

France. Of course! America jumped up with a renewed determination. “Yes sir!”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm shit at accents and dialect, so just plain old easy English for me... sorry Scotland.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally meant to be fluff...


End file.
